Johnlock song prompt
by MorbidMotive
Summary: A bunch of oneshots inspired by songs that remind me of Johnlock. I know, the summary sucks. If there is a song you want me to do, leave it in the comments, but only songs that could be related to Johnlock please! :) Rating may change. Possible character death, feels, fluff, probably some angst, the works ;)
1. Come wake me up

Chapter 1: "Come wake me up" by Rascal Flatts

**John**

John sat in the pub, staring down at his pint, trying to drink away the pain of losing Sherlock, his best friend and the man he loved, the man who would never know how much John cared for him and longed for his presence.

Most nights, John could drink Sherlock right off his mind, but tonight was different. Tonight was the two year anniversary of that godforsaken day. The day he lost his best friend, and the only person he would ever truly love.

He finished his drink and left the pub, a little wobbly on his feet, and walked to the cemetery. He had gone there every day since Sherlock's death, it made him feel that sherlock was still there with him, that he never truly left.

"Hi. Me again," he started. He looked down at the stone and sighed, the familiar empty feeling in the pit of his stomach made him feel sick. He took a shaky breath and continued. "I miss you, Sherlock, so much." He sat down across from the grave. He stared it down for a while, afraid to speak. "It's been getting harder, you know. Everyday, I try to move on, but everything is so dull compared to how it used to be. You said you weren't a hero, but you were to me, Sherlock." It was now that tears started to spill down John's cheeks, but he ignored them. "You took me when I was a broken, lonely man, and put me back together again. You made me feel important, made me feel excitement and adrenaline that I thought I would never feel again after getting shot." John sniffled, then continued. "Sometimes I want to join you, Sherlock. Sometimes I wonder what the point is in life. I loved you Sherlock, and I still do, but it makes everything so much harder. I love you, so bloody much. You put meaning and excitement back in my life, only to tear it away from me again, and I hated you for that. But then, I think of your eyes, your laugh, your beautiful curls, your Cupid's-bow lips, and your amazing ability to read someone's past as though it were a book, just sitting in the open, and all the hate and anger is replaced with love. Love, and longing, and sorrow, and hurt. So please, Sherlock, for me, don't be dead."

He sat there for a moment, staring at the black marble as though it were Sherlock himself. He started to get up, but was stopped short when a hand gripped his shoulder in a firm, but caring way, and the oh so familiar baritone voice said "I'm so, so sorry, John."

**Sherlock**

Sherlock rolled his window down and lit his last cigarette. Sebastian Moran was dead, and it was finally time to go back home.

He glanced out of his window as familiar lights passed the tinted glass, and he couldn't help but smile as the driver turned onto Baker Street. He jumped out of the car he had been trapped in since Amsterdam and ran up the stairs in sets of two. It had been two years, and he wanted nothing more than to see John again. H burst through the door to the flat to find it empty.

"John?" he called out. No answer. "John!" he called again. Still nothing. He ran throughout the flat looking for his blogger, but found nobody. He thought of where the doctor could have gone to, and then it hit him. He ran outside and hailed a cab, and told the driver to take him to the cemetery.

When they got there, Sherlock paid the cabby and walked the short distance to his grave, wanting nothing more than to run up to the familiar figure crouching down by it, but he stopped short when he heard some of what the doctor was saying.  
"... I want to join you, Sherlock. Sometimes I wonder what the point in life is."

_No… no, John._

"I loved you Sherlock, and I still do, but it makes everything so much harder. I love you, so bloody much."

_I love you too, John. _

"You put meaning and excitement back in my life, only to tear it away from me again, and I hated you for that."

Sherlock's heart broke when he heard those words. _He hates me. _

"But then, I think of your eyes, your laugh, your beautiful curls, your Cupid's-bow lips, and your amazing ability to read someone's past as though it were a book, just sitting in the open, and all the hate and anger is replaced with love.

Sherlock smiled when he heard that part. _He doesn't hate me._

"Love, and longing, and sorrow, and hurt. So please, Sherlock, for me, don't be dead."

Sherlock stayed in his place a few feet behind John for only a moment, replaying part of John's monologue through his head.

_I love you, so bloody much._

John started to get up and Sherlock made his move. He put his hand on John's shoulder, making the soldier stop dead in his tracks. "I'm so, so sorry, John."

_**XXX**_

John stood up and turned around, coming face to face with the consulting detective he thought he had lost forever. He didn't know what to say, so he just stood there, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock's.  
"Sh-Sherlock?" he questioned.  
The detective just smiled a small smile and nodded his head. "Yes, John. It's me."  
John looked down. He didn't quite know what to do. All at once he wanted to cry, scream, swear, punch Sherlock square in the face, push him away and hold him close and never let him go. But when he looked Sherlock in the eyes, his arms flew out and wrapped around the detective, hugging him tight. He was a bit surprised when he felt the detective's arms wrap around him as well, tentatively at first, but then gaining strength and hold him as firm as he was holding Sherlock.  
"I'm so sorry John."  
"You bloody well should be," the doctor sobbed out. "Two bloody years, Sherlock!"  
"I know, but I had to. Moriarty had snipers aimed at you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson that would shoot you if they didn't see me fall. I didn't want to hurt you, John. I'm so sorry."  
"Why were you gone so long?" the doctor choked out. He didn't protest when he felt a hand run up and down his back soothingly.  
"I had to take down Moriarty's web."  
"Did anyone know?"  
"John-"  
"Did anyone know?" he asked firmly.  
Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "Yes. Molly and Mycroft. They helped me with it."  
"Why not me?" He heard the doctor question quietly, not trusting his voice. It broke Sherlock's heart to hear him so hurt.  
"It had to be believable. I really am sorry John."  
John didn't answer right away. "How much of that little speech did you hear?"  
"All of it."  
"Oh." Sherlock could almost feel the heat radiating from John's cheeks. He took John's ching gently in his own, and tilted the doctor's head up.  
"I love you too, John." And with that being said, he slowly lowered his lips and gently pressed them to John's.

John was still for a moment, still trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last two minutes, but before Sherlock could pull away, his lips started to work with the detective's less experienced ones. He put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck while Sherlock cupped his face and pulled him closer.

They kissed until they had to pull back for air, but continued to look each other in the eye. Sherlock leaned in again and kissed the tears off John's beautiful face before placing a tender kiss on John's forehead. He then pulled John's head onto his chest and John willingly rested it there, enjoying the sound of his love's heartbeat and the feel of Sherlock's hand stroking the back of his head calmingly, one hand still wrapped around his back. Sherlock's embrace then lowered so that his arms were around John's waist as the doctor's arms wrapped around his own.

Sherlock leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of John's head before nuzzling his nose in his hair, taking in the intoxicating scent of John that he had missed so much. "I love you," he whispered, "and I hope that I can keep the promise that I will never have to leave you like that again."  
John smiled, understanding what he meant. "I love you too. And you better keep that promise. Don't leave me again, please, Sherlock. I don't think I could handle losing you again," he responded, his voice muffled by the fabric of the scarf.  
Sherlock was silent for a moment. Should he promise that? What if this situation arose again? Finally he found a way to word the promise that he so much wanted to keep. "I promise, John, that if your life is not in jeopardy, I will not leave you again. I know that that isn't the promise you wanted, but it's all I can promise you. Please, don't ask anything more from me, because I would and will gladly die if it means you stay safe."  
He could feel John smile even through his many layers. "I would do the same for you, Sherlock. Let's go home." Sherlock nodded and John called for a cab.

He had gotten back to his heart, now it was time to get back home.

**Reviews?**


	2. What hurst the most

**A/N okay not gonna lie. I am going to make this as feelsy as I possibly can. You can totally skip this chapter if you want. **

* * *

Chapter 2: 'What hurts the most' By Rascal Flatts

John limped to the gravestone that contained nothing but the name of his best friend, the best man he had ever known. He sat down on the ground across from it carefully and cleared his throat.

"Hello, Sherlock. I went to the doctor's today. I haven't been able to sleep right since… you know." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Every time I go to sleep, I wake up not two hours later with your bloodied body flashing in my mind, and I can't get back to sleep after that. I've tried medicine, talking to a doctor, to several therapists, friends, family, I've tried to date again and work more but nothing helps."

John was silent for a moment, as if waiting for a snarky remark. But none came.

"The reason I went to the doctor today was because, well, I haven't been eating. Not once since the day you jumped. I've tried, I really have but every time I try, I throw it up. I can't keep anything down, no matter how hard I try."

John sniffled, tears stinging his eyes.

"This is hard, Sherlock. I can handle the little things, the rain on the roof of the empty flat doesn't really bother me. I cry a lot more than I used to. For a while I'd try not to, but then I realized that it was no point." John chuckled sadly to himself as a memory flashed through his mind. "I act like I'm fine around Lestrade and the others. I force a smile, but they know that I'm not okay. It doesn't take a genius to see how much weight I've lost. The hardest thing to do is deal with the pain of losing you."

"I'm scared, Sherlock. I really am. I've lost 25 lbs in three months. I don't understand, it's not like I'm not hungry, I just can't keep anything down. If this doesn't stop soon, I'm going to die. The doctors said they don't know what it is, and I don't either. It's common in depression to lose your appetite, but not to vomit everything up less than an hour later."

John looked away as tears started to run down his cheeks. He took a shuddering breath before continuing.

"I wish you were here," he whispered, "I really do, Sherlock. You'd say some snarky remark and call me an idiot, but then, just like the first time, you'd put me back together. I don't care what you said about yourself, I know it wasn't true. Nothing will ever convince me otherwise. Because believe it or not, Sherlock, I love you. I've loved you since the very beginning. But then you said you were married to your work and I pushed my feelings back. I didn't want to get hurt but in the end that's exactly what happened." John wiped at his wet cheeks and eyes before continuing. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and it's bloody killing me."

John set the red roses down on the grave before standing up weakly. He touched the edge of the gravestone before leaving to get a cab.

**21 months later**

Sherlock got out of the extensive black car of Mycroft's. Without thanking the driver he threw the door open and ran into the flat. He was welcomed with Mrs. Hudson's screaming, but he ignored her and ran up to his flat. To his John.

"John!" he shouted, but he was met with silence.

"Sherlock?" Came Mrs. Hudson's surprised and semi-frightened voice.

"Mrs. Hudson! I'll explain everything later, but first, where is John?"

Mrs. Hudson didn't say anything at first, the realization that Sherlock was alive starting to set in. She managed to summon her words after a moment of staring, shocked, at the man she had believed dead. "Y-you'll find him at the cemetery, next to your grave. He's always there nowadays."

Sherlock gave her a peck on the cheek before running out to the streets to get a cab. The first thing he was going to do was wrap John in his arms. John would probably punch him, but he'd let him, as long as he could see his John again. Then he'd tell him he loved him and then he'd kiss him. John would probably reject but he didn't care. He was finally going to be with John.

When he got to the cemetery, he threw a hand full of notes at the cabbie and ran to where his fake grave was, but he didn't see anyone. As he got closer, he could make out a hunched shape.

_John._

"John!" he yelled again as he ran to his best friend. "John!" he called again, but once he got closer he froze. It wasn't John, not exactly, anyway. His heart stopped as he got closer. "John?" he choked as he approached the gravestone. Not his, John's. He kneeled down right in front of it, stared at it for a moment, then threw his arms around it as tears squeezed their way into his eyes. He sniffled and whimpered "No. No, John. Not you. Oh God PLEASE!"

For the first time since he was a child, William Sherlock Scott Holmes sobbed. He clung onto the grave of his best friend and sobbed so hard he thought he would throw up. He never got to tell John he loved him. Never got to tell him how much he really meant to him, that despite Sherlock's insults, he was the most brilliant man he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. He sobbed until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he hoped it was John, but when he turned around, he was met with a remorseful Mycroft.

"How did this happen?!" Sherlock demanded through tears.

Mycroft sighed. "He was sick. His body rejected everything he tried to eat or drink, and eventually, he got to weak." Sherlock pressed his forehead to the stone. "In less thick terms, he gave up, died of a broken heart."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"You needed to finish taking down Moriarty's web. I couldn't interrupt your work."

"Bullshit! You could for John's sake! What's the point in being away from him to save his life if being away is killing him?"

The worst part about all of that, for Mycroft, was how his little brother looked. He looked so lost, so heartbroken, like when he was a little boy and would get bullied or teased at school, and then coming home, only to have Mycroft, who in his defense was a typical teenager at the time, do the same thing. Back then he had his mother to comfort him and when he got older, John was there to take care of him. _Had._ "I really am sorry about this, Sherlock."

"Go. Get out of here. I don't want you here and John wouldn't either," he spat. He placed his head back on the stone before continuing weakly. "Leave. Just go."

Mycroft didn't have it in him to fight with Sherlock when he was like this, so he just nodded, turned and left.

A few weeks later, when Mycroft went to John's grave, he found Sherlock there, asleep on the grave. He walked over to him and nudged his shoulder, but he didn't move. "Sherlock, wake up," he tried, but Sherlock did not wake up. Mycroft knelt down by his brother and checked his pulse. It wasn't there.

Mycroft Holmes didn't cry.

That didn't mean he wasn't sad. He had sent his brother on a suicide mission, but that's not what had killed him in the end. Sherlock died the same way John Watson died.

For a heart cannot function when half of it is missing.

* * *

**Don't hate me. **

**I hope that was enough feels! The next chapter will be happier I swear!**


	3. Wanted

Chapter 3: Wanted by Hunter Hayes

John sat on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. Sherlock had been in a particularly nasty mood today and said things that made John want to curl up on himself and disappear.

_Idiot!_

_Why do I bother with you?!_

_Why don't you just leave? You're sure as hell not doing any good by staying here!_

_I was better off before you came limping into my life!_

Then he stormed out. Without another word, he left the flat, left John with those harsh words. John didn't even know why. _He's finally gotten bored with you, that's why. Or maybe, maybe he's figured out how you feel about him. The man did fake his death for two years, probably to get away from you. Moriarty was right, you _are _just his pet. A mere toy he got tired of. You might as well make him happy and leave before it happens again._

But then his heart would step in and say things like: _No, give him a chance. You know Sherlock. It was probably just a stressful case. It'll blow over in a few days time. Even if he does know you love him, he wouldn't hate you for it._

In the end, his head won the argument. He pulled a duffle out from under his bed and began to pack some clothes, when there was a soft, almost shy knock at the door.

"John, can I come in?" Sherlock's voice asked tentatively.

John froze, he didn't even breathe. He really didn't want to face Sherlock now, but he still wiped at his eyes, as if it would remove all traces of the tears that had been there.

"John, I know you're in there. Please, I need to talk to you."

John started to breathe again, and slowly and hesitantly, he walked to the door and opened it. He didn't say anything, he didn't look Sherlock in the eye.

"You've been crying," Sherlock stated, and John could have sworn that he heard a bit of remorse in his tone.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, you are the genius. But what would I know. I'm just an idiot that limped into your life." With this, John turned away and began packing more things. He only stopped when he felt Sherlock's hand grab his own slightly trembling one. He didn't dare look up at the detective, he could already feel tears starting to well in his eyes.

"Please, John. Let me explain."

John looked up at him, and Sherlock's stomach turned at the hurt in his eyes, knowing he was the one to put it there. He moved John's duffle off to the side and sat him down gently on the bed. John refused to look at Sherlock and stared out the window as the detective sat down next to him. Close, he might add.

"First of all, I didn't mean any of the things I said. I myself don't know why I said them, though I think it was because you made me quite frustrated."

"But I didn't even do anything." John had meant for it to sound angry, but it sounded hurt and small. It made Sherlock's stomach turn once again.

"Not intentionally, no. You didn't even know you were doing it, and no, it is not because you're an idiot. You're brilliant John, and don't let anyone, especially me, tell you any different." When John didn't say anything in response, Sherlock continued. "You made me discover that I feel a new… emotion... towards you. It frustrated me because I wasn't sure what it was."

"If you're trying to tell me that you're bored of me, I'll be out by morning. I won't contact you, see you, so don't worry."

John was surprised when two long arms wrapped around him tightly. "Don't leave. Please, John. I know I acted like a complete arse earlier, but I need you. This new emotion is a good one. And if anyone here is an idiot it's me because it took me way longer than it should have to realize that I love you."

John didn't say anything. John _couldn't _say anything. He couldn't find any words.

The longer John just sat there, Sherlock began to worry. Had he broken him? Had he said the wrong thing? Was John disgusted by him? What if he didn't love Sherlock back? What if Sherlock had ruined any chance of his feelings being reciprocated? But all these feelings were wiped away when he felt John wrap his arms around Sherlock. Lightly at first, as if unsure of what to do, but then they tightened around him and he buried his face into Sherlock's chest, breathing raggedly as a single tear made his way down his cheek.

"I love you too." Another ragged inhale.

Sherlock smiled and put a hand on the back of John's head, holding him close as he smoothed the hair that rested there. He scooted further back on the bed, pulling John with him. He crossed his legs around John, pulling him close as cold winter wind blew threw the window. He nuzzled his nose into John's hair and breathed in the scent of his flatmate. After a few minutes John began to shiver, so Sherlock pulled the duvet out from under them and wrapped it around the two of them.

John smiled as he moved his face from Sherlock's chest to his warm neck, nuzzling it there and smiling to himself. He felt safe and secure as Sherlock's arms protected him from the world, and the extra layer of duvet protected them from the cold.

"Can you forgive me, John?" Sherlock asked. John smiled a bit.

"Of course I forgive you, you git." He then moved his head to look at Sherlock. "I always will."

Sherlock smiled, but it slowly faded away as he leaned in closer to the doctor wrapped warm in his arms. His eyes drifted closed naturally, but not before he saw John doing the same thing. They paused right as their lips were about to touch, warm breath dancing on each others lips like fire. Sherlock opened his eyes to be met with John's slightly dilated ones. Not in a form of lust or hunger, but one of love and need. Sherlock leaned down and gently pressed his lips to John's, closing the grand-canyon of a gap between them. He was a bit uncertain as to how to do this sort of thing, but John knew what he was doing and after a few seconds, he got the hang of it.

Lips danced together gracefully as warmth spread between the two men. It was like nothing either had experience before. John had kissed plenty of women, but this was different. It held more love and passion than he had felt with those women, and it continued until they had to break for air.

"I'm so sorry, John. All those things I said, they're the complete opposite of how I want to make you feel. I don't want to make you feel unnecessary, because you're not. For all I know, without you, I could be back on drugs, or even dead by now. I want to make you feel wanted, John Hamish Watson, because you are. You are wanted and needed and adored and loved by me, even though there will come times where I don't show it, it's true."

John smiled and placed a hand on the side of Sherlock's neck, he placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock's soft cupid's bow lips. "So, what are we now? How would I introduce you? '_Hi, my name is John Watson and this is Sherlock, my...'_ what term would we use?"

"Boyfriend? The term sounds a bit boyish but I suppose that would be the correct term. _Lover _sounds a bit too intimate to be used as an introduction to a perfect stranger."

"Alright then, you're my boyfriend now," John said with a large, adorable grin on his face.

"And you're mine," Sherlock said, before tightening his grip on the army doctor.

The two detectives stayed cuddled up together for hours, until sleep finally tried to drag them away. They laid down on the bed and pulled the duvet over them to keep them warm. They could have shut the window, but this gave them an excuse to cuddle close together. John snuggled into Sherlock's side, and gave him a kiss. "Goodnight, love."

"I like that, you calling me love. It sounds… nice. I love you."

"I love you too."

The two men fell asleep in each other's arms for the first time that night, and every night after for the rest of their lives.

* * *

**Hey readers! I told you this one would be happier, even though there was a bit of harsh water in the beginning. Anyway, I NEED SONGS! If there is a song you want me to do-only songs that can be related to Johnlock please!- then put it in the reviews or PM me! I love your reviews, they are like chinese food to me, and I LOOOOOVE me some chinese food. **

**Until next time, faithful readers!**


	4. Baby don't cut

**Okay you guys are going to hate me for this one. I'm so sorry. Happy-ish ending though!**

Chapter 4: Baby don't cut by B-mike

Sherlock and John sat down under a tall tree that was hidden in sight from the school. John held Sherlock in his arms as he cried, something he didn't do in front of anybody except John. He held Sherlock tightly as his boyfriend cried against his chest, hugging his knees to his chest. John stroked the hair on the side of Sherlock's head soothingly as he rocked back and forth gently. He placed a kiss on the dark curls below before resting his forehead there.

"It's going to be alright love, I promise. I will always be there for you. Okay?" Sherlock nodded against John's school jumper. John tilted his boyfriend's head up and placed a loving kiss on Sherlock's now salty lips. "I love you, so much. And I always will. You're my other half." He could feel Sherlock smile a little and smiled himself. He closed his eyes and nuzzled his nose into his hair. They stayed like that in silent peace as they rocked back and forth. John opened his eyes a little, and his blood ran cold at the sight of the scars running up and down Sherlock's arms, getting very close to his wrists. He reached out and gently grabbed Sherlock's left arm. "Sherlock…" he whispered. Sherlock tried to yank his arm away but John tightened his grip, though not enough to hurt him. "Why, Sherlock? Why didn't you come to me? Why would you do this to yourself?"

"I-, it helps me control the pain I feel inside. It helps me to forget about all the insults, all the beatings. It just, helps. I'm sorry," he said as his body started to shake again and tears escaped his eyes. "You're going to leave me now too, aren't you? Just like everyone else does?"

John's own eyes started to tear up as he pulled Sherlock to his chest once again, holding him tight as began to cry again. "No, of course I'm not. I love you, and I need you. I will never leave you, Sherlock, I promise. But, please, Sherlock, promise me you won't do that anymore. I'm here for you, no matter what."

Sherlock nodded and then sniffled. "I promise."

"Good. I love you so much."

"I love you too."

They stayed like that for a while, in each others arms as they slowly rocked back in forth, enjoying each others company. They talked and John even got Sherlock to laugh, a true-hearted laugh, a few times. John leaned his forehead against Sherlock's, completely captivated by his universe-like eyes.

"You're beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you any different."

"Okay. You are too."

"And you know that no matter what, if you need me, just text or call me and I will be there for you?"

Sherlock smiled a small smile. "Yeah, I do."

"Good."

"I guess we should be going then?"

"Probably. Want me to walk you home?"

"That's alright. I know you have to help your mum. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course you will. I'll text you later. Love you."

"Love you too." With one final kiss, Sherlock and John parted ways.

When Sherlock arrived home and walked through the door he kicked off his shoes and went up to his room to work on an experiment. As per usual, Sherlock had finished his homework at school, so had all the time he needed to finish, not minding that his clothes were getting dirty and stained.

He finished just in time for his father to come home.

Sherlock listened closely to the sounds of his father stumbling around downstairs, knocking things over as he did so. _Shit, he's drunk again._

"Sherlock! Get down here boy!"

Sherlock cringed at what he knew was about to come, but knew it would be worse if he didn't obey. He hesitantly walked down the flight of steps and into the living room.

"Yes, father?"

"What the hell is this?" he yelled as he pointed to Sherlock's shoes and coat laying on the floor.

"I'm sorry, father, my coat must have fallen-" he was cut off by a hard smack to the face.

"How many goddamn times do I have to tell you not to leave your fucking shoes laying around!"

"I'm sorry," he stumbled on his words as he straightened his shoes and pushed them against the wall.

"And as for this precious coat of yours," he said as he picked it up, leaving the sentence to hang in the air. He walked over to his seat in front of the fireplace, dumped the rest of his drink on it, and threw it in the fireplace.

Sherlock's wanted to scream at what his father did. That coat was a present from John, and he had worked extra shifts all summer to be able to afford it for him. "Why'd you do that?" He called, immediately regretting it.

"What did you say to me, boy?" Before Sherlock could even begin to think of a response, his father had marched over and kicked him in the stomach. "You don't talk back to me, freak!" he yelled as he kicked Sherlock again. He continued to beat poor Sherlock until he managed to get up and run out the door, faster than he ever had before.

Sherlock didn't pay attention to where he was running, he just let his feet take him away from that horrid man. He ran and ran until he saw John's house come into view. The sight of his boyfriend's house only drove him to run faster, only now aware of the tears blurring his eyes. He was grateful that John's mum worked overnight shifts. He burst through the front door, which was thankfully unlocked, and into the living room where a slightly startled John was standing by the couch. Sherlock ran up to him, threw his arms around him and sobbed.

"Sherlock, Love, what's wrong?"

"My, my father…" was all he managed to choke out.

"Oh, sweetheart. Come on, let's go up to my room, yeah? You can stay here tonight." John went to lock the door and then grabbed Sherlock's hand, leading him up to his room. He flicked his light switch on and walked over to the bed. He and Sherlock stripped down to just their pants and John pulled the duvet back so Sherlock could get in first. His bed was pushed against the wall, and he had noticed that, especially on nights like this, Sherlock like to be between him and the wall. He followed Sherlock under the warm covers and wrapped his arms around him as Sherlock laid his head on John's chest. John kissed his temple lovingly and rubbed his back as he cried. "I know it's hard, but tomorrow will bring a brighter day. You just have to try not to let them get to you, love."

"It's so hard," he said, then took in another ragged breath.

"I know it is, but I'll be here to help you through it."

They stayed silent for a while after that, for a while the only sound was Sherlock's occasional hiccup.

"It feels like everyone except you and your mum hates me," mumbled sadly.

"That's not true, Sherlock. What about Mike? Mike doesn't hate you?"

"He doesn't like me either."

"He just doesn't know you that well."

"And he doesn't want to. No one except you wants to even see the freak, let alone know him."

"You are not a freak," John said firmly. "I don't ever want to hear you call yourself that again, understood?" he asked firmly, but made sure that Sherlock knew he wasn't mad at him. Sherlock nodded against his chest, and he smiled. "Good. Now, let's try and get some sleep, okay?" He felt Sherlock nod again. "I love you, Sherlock. Forever and for always."

"I love you too, with my body, heart, and soul to death. Goodnight."

* * *

John was right, Sherlock felt a bit better the next day. He even smiled a few times as he walked to class, but come third period, they were long forgotten. That was the worst class, that's when the whispering started, when people started throwing things at him. He only managed to get a few of the whispers.

"The freaks here…"

"Look at his bruises…"

"What a fag…"

Sherlock tried to block them out, tell himself that they were wrong and that it wasn't anything he hadn't already heard, but it wasn't working. He tried thinking of John, and that helped a bit. Until…

"Hey fag!"

"Nice bruises, freak! Even your own parents don't want you."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Watson's only pretending to like you."

"Why don't you just off yourself already?!"

As usual, the teacher didn't seem to care enough to do anything. Sherlock took out his phone and texted John, who was in english right now.

_I love you with my body, heart, and soul to death. SH_

John sat working on an assignment with Mike Stamford when he felt his phone vibrate. He picked it up and read the text from Sherlock, sent back _I love you_, and continued to talk to Mike. He didn't really think anything of it, Sherlock liked telling John he loved him.

Sherlock smiled at the words, trying to cling to the hope that they brought him, but it only seemed to make the tormenting worse.

He couldn't take it anymore. He stood from his desk and ran out of the classroom, hot tears blinding his vision. He ran out of the school, all the way to his home, which he knew would be empty at this time. He ran up to his bathroom and gripped the sink so hard his knuckles turned white. He looked at himself in the mirror, and could hear the insults being shouted in his head. He tried to delete them but they echoed the walls of his mind palace. He opened his medicine cabinet and took out his razor, holding it in his hands.

_No, you promised John. You wouldn't break a promise that soon._

This only seemed to aggravate the voices. They began to scream at an incredible volume until Sherlock finally gave into his urges. He turned the water to hot and undressed himself, then settled into the hot water. He held the razor to his skin and slid it across, relaxing at the stinging sensation. He swiped it again, then again, then a fourth time against his wrist before doing the same to the other arm and wrist.

John had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it made him feel like he was going to throw up. He asked permission to visit the loo, but instead ran out of the building, letting his feet take him where his mind told them to go. He recognized the path, and the first thing to cross his mind was _no, oh god, please no_. He ran in through the already ajar door of the Holmes mansion and stopped in the entryway. "Sherlock!" he called, but the only response he got was the sound of water running from upstairs. He took off running, taking the stairs two at a time and burst into the bathroom to find Sherlock sitting in a tub of red water, just barely conscious. "No!" he cried as he ran over to the tub. He shut the water off and removed Sherlock, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around him as he held Sherlock close. He took his phone out and called for an ambulance, putting it on speaker and using his hands to apply pressure to Sherlock's wrists.

"How could you do this?" he cried into Sherlock's hair.

"Please don't hate me," Sherlock said weakly. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"No, no, Love, of course I don't hate you. I never could, and never will. Just, stay awake, okay?" John didn't pay any mind to the fact that he was sobbing, but Sherlock did.

"I'm sorry."

"Ssh, don't speak. The ambulance is on it's way, you're going to be fine just stay awake."

John rocked Sherlock gently to try and calm him down. If he was panicking, his heart would beat faster and he would lose blood faster.

When the paramedics came, they strapped Sherlock to a bed and carried him to the ambulance, allowing John to come inside. His heart hoped Sherlock would be okay, but his brain told him that it was very unlikely.

_No, he's Sherlock. My Sherlock. He can do anything, he'll be alright._

The doctor called emergency as they rushed Sherlock into a room, separating him from a worried-sick and panicking John. He called his mom and told him what happened, and she said she would be there as soon as possible. John couldn't do this alone.

* * *

An hour later, the doctor walked out, his expression grim.

"He didn't make it, I'm so sorry for your loss."

John's bones turned to pudding as fell to the floor. "No!" he cried out, shaking hard as tears spilled out of his eyes. The doctor went back into the room and gave them their privacy. John's mother sank down by him and held him close as he sobbed harder than she had ever seen him sob. "Sherlock!" he cried out as he continued to sob in his mother's arms. He had just lost his true love, his whole world, and his whole heart in one sentence.

Mrs. Watson cried too. She had always loved Sherlock, he was like her son and she thought he was a wonderful young man, but she stayed as strong as she could for her son, who was much more upset right now.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she whispered in John's ear as he clung to her. The shoulder of her blouse was soaked in tears, but she didn't care. She kissed John's temple and continued to rock him back and forth soothingly, until he didn't have anymore tears to cry. Only then did they get up. They started for the door, but John suddenly bolted the opposite way into the bathroom, where she could hear him throwing up. She put a hand to her mouth to try and contain any sobs that could escape.

* * *

The funeral was the hardest part. They had gotten there early to help Sherlock's mother, whom was very upset and his brother, who looked forlorn and somber. He had been away at university this whole time, and didn't even know about it. He blamed himself for not noticing, for not helping. As for his mother, she was away a lot on business, and by the time she would get back, the bruises would be gone and Sherlock would hide his scars.

John was still angry with them for not noticing and doing something, but he knew that if Sherlock didn't want them to know something, they wouldn't know about it.

Sherlock's father wasn't even there.

John walked up to the casket while his mother gave their condolences to his family. He had to bite down on his trembling lip to prevent from sobbing. He inhaled with a ragged breath and sniffled, reaching out to stroke Sherlock's curls, as if trying to rouse him from his sleep.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't know something was wrong. I love you, and I always will. No one can ever replace you." With that, he leaned over and placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips, cringing slightly at how cold and dead they were.

The burial was even harder. John helped carry the casket out, along with Mycroft, one of their uncles, who had been close to him, and their aunt. He held onto his mother's hand tightly as they lowered the casket into the ground.

* * *

John laid in his bed, torch in hand, looking at a picture of him and Sherlock, just a few weeks before… all this happened. Mike had taken the picture on his phone, and sent it to John, who hadn't even known Mike was there at the time. His mother said he wouldn't be going back to school for a while, so, at the very least, didn't have to worry about school the next day.

The picture was of Sherlock and John in each others arms, they had just pulled away from a kiss and had their foreheads resting against one another, small but happy smiles on their faces. He put the frame back on his bedside table as tears ran down his face. He clung to the pillow that Sherlock had used the night before, taking in his scent for as long as he could.

But it didn't last long. When the smell of Sherlock was gone, John couldn't keep it together. It was like feeling Sherlock leave him all over again.

He jumped out of bed and ran out of the house, being careful not to wake his mother, who had taken a few nights off work, as he ran to the cemetery. He stopped in front of Sherlock's grave and dropped to his knees on top of the pile of dirt. He allowed himself to sob and scream and cry as loudly as he needed to, to the point where his throat was raw and he could have sworn he tasted a little blood. After an exhausting breakdown, he curled up on top of the dirt and laid there, trying to imagine he was laying on Sherlock's chest, like he would when he was upset.

The night was cold, and he wished he had brought a jacket, but suddenly, a strange but not unwelcome warmth washed over him. It was a warm a warmth that he had never felt before, and he knew it was Sherlock. He didn't know how he knew, he just knew that Sherlock was there, hugging him and trying to comfort him. If he focused hard enough, he could even faintly smell Sherlock's personal scent. The tears stopped, and soon John was asleep.

* * *

His mother found him the next morning exactly where she knew he would be. He shook his shoulder gently to rouse him, then helped him to the car, brushing some of the dirt off his shirt and trousers.

As they walked to the car, John stuck his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, and felt something.

_Odd, he hadn't had anything in his pocket when he had left._

He pulled the thing out of his pocket and stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide and a small smile twitching at his lips, the only explanation being that Sherlock's spirit had put it there.

In his hand, he held an undamaged square of the fabric form Sherlock's coat.

* * *

**Again, sooo sorry about that. The next song will be happier! And no, it's not going to constantly alternate between happy and sad, but the only songs I really listen too that can be related to Johnlock are sad songs. THAT'S WHY I NEED PROMPTS!**


	5. Forever and for always

**Yay! Happy fic! No sadness! AT ALL. I owe you guys at least that much, considering I killed four readers with that last one. This one is inspired by both the music video and the song. It goes from John and Sherlock as kids, then teenagers, and then their age in the show.**

**There will be fluffy smut in this chapter, but you can skip it if you want.**

Chapter 5: Forever and for always by Shania Twain

* * *

A six-year-old John ran down to the beach, a cool looking rock in his hand. "Sherlock!" he called out.

The four-year-old with ravenous black curls turned to look at him as John bounded up to him. John held his discovery out for Sherlock to take.

"Ooh, a sark toof, John! Look at it!"

"I see!" he said excitedly.

Sherlock stood up and grabbed John's hand, and together the two of them ran to where their parents and Mycroft were sitting, the mothers and fathers talking, and Mycroft reading.

"Mommy! Daddy! Mycroft! Look at what we found!"

John and Sherlock jumped onto their fathers laps (well, actually, Sherlock was lifted but he did it excitedly) and Sherlock held out the tooth.

"That's really cool, boys," Sherlock's mom said as his father ruffled his curls.

"John found it. What kind of sark do you think it's fwom?"

"I'd say it looks like a bull shark," Mycroft said.

"Ooh!" both boys said in unison.

Sherlock crawled from his father's lap and onto Mycroft's. "You wanna help us, Myc?"

Mycroft chuckled and ruffled Sherlock's curls. "Maybe next time, Sherl. Go have fun with John."

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. He jumped down and grabbed John's hand and together they ran off to look for other things.

* * *

Sherlock and John walked down the beach, hand in hands. Sherlock's parents owned this part of the beach, so they had the entire place to themselves. John was now seventeen, and today was Sherlock's sixteenth birthday. The two were about a year and a half apart, and they had only grown closer over the twelve years they had known each other.

They were walking through the water, talking, laughing, when John stopped and pulled Sherlock closer to him, John had him beat in height by about two inches. He pulled something out of his pocket and held it in front of Sherlock. Bound on a thin leather strap, was the shark tooth they had found all those years ago, in the same spot they were now.

"Happy birthday, Love." He placed the necklace around Sherlock's neck and watched as his face lit up.

"You kept it. All these years?"

"Of course."

Sherlock smiled and leaned in to give John, who was about the same height as he was, a kiss. "Thank you, I love it. I really do," he smiled.

"I'm glad," John said as he leaned in to give Sherlock another kiss. It was sweet and gentle, as were most of their kisses. When they broke apart, John took Sherlock by the hand and walked him over to a hammock that was strung between two trees on top of a small cliff. It had a wonderful view of the sunset, and John and Sherlock spent many nights there, as they were going to do tonight. They swam for a while, went below the surface to look at different types of life and plantation, and when the sun was about to set, they changed into the clothes they had brought, John in a grey t-shirt and a pair of joggers, while Sherlock wore similar attire, but not as warm, then they had also brought a light blanket.

John crawled on first, then Sherlock crawled between his legs, laying his head on his lover's chest. They watched the sunset in blissful silence while John ran his hand through Sherlock's hair and Sherlock thumbed the shark tooth gently.

Sherlock loved nights like this; just the two of them in their hammock in the middle of summer, watching the sunset as a slight breeze made them cuddle closer together. "I could stay right here forever in your arms," he mumbled sleepily, ignoring how cheesy it sounded.

"Good, because I'm keeping you forever and for always," John replied.

"I love you, John. And thank you for a wonderful birthday.

"I love you too, Love. And you're welcome, I'm glad I could make your day special."

"Always."

They laid together as the sun disappeared and the moon arose to take its place. Sherlock scooted upward so that he was laying next to John, and and grinned as he felt strong arms wrapping around his waist. John opened his eyes and smiled, planting a chaste kiss on his boyfriend's lips.

"Goodnight, Love."

"Goodnight, John."

* * *

John and Sherlock walked down the beach on the night of their fifth wedding anniversary (though it was only the third that they had spent together). It had been a lovely day, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and the Holmes and Watson families took them out to dinner, but it was turning out to be an even lovelier night. Their fingers were entwined as they walked up to the small cliff that they had been to so many times before. Every once in a while, they would stop to look at a strange shell or to watch as the waves crashed on the rocks, then continue on their way as they walked in unison and spoke of whatever crossed their mind. When they made it to the hammock, they were both surprised to see a small table with two a bottle of champagne and two glasses. John chuckled at the sight, while Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"Leave it to Mycroft," he mumbled.

"I think it's nice," John said as he walked over and picked up the bottle. "We might as well use it," he said, knowing that even though Sherlock acted like he didn't care, he was thankful that in his own sherlockian way that Mycroft had brought it there.

"Yes, I suppose we should," he replied, allowing a smirk to twitch at his lips. John walked over and kissed him. Not hungrily, but passionately. When their lips broke apart, John looked down at the shark tooth necklace around Sherlock's neck and smiled at the memory. He gave Sherlock another kiss, then walked over to the champagne and poured some in the glasses. He handed one to Sherlock.

"For you, Mr. Watson-Holmes," he said as he sat beside his husband on the hammock.

"Thank you, Mr. Watson-Holmes. I will never get tired of saying that."

"Me either."

Sherlock raised his glass slightly. "To us."

John smiled and raised his glass to equal level. "To us."

They clinked their glasses together and took a sip. Sherlock put an arm around John's shoulders and John leaned into the embrace, loving the feeling of being with Sherlock. It had been a hard year. Only eight months ago, Sherlock returned. John had been shocked, then fucking pissed, then upset and hurt and then forgiving. He really couldn't stay mad at Sherlock because he would have done the same thing. He had put himself in front of danger several times when he was in Afghanistan, and those were his friends. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his other half.

Over the course of an hour, John and Sherlock finished the bottle off, talking and laughing and cuddling and just enjoying each others presence.

As the sun began to set, John leaned over and kissed Sherlock lovingly. Sherlock kissed back automatically, cupping John's face as John rested his hands on the back of Sherlock's neck. The kiss grew more passionate as they leaned back in the hammock, Sherlock laying on top of John.

**~Time for fluffy smut~**

Sherlock moaned out as John's tongue made it's way into his mouth. He loved the feeling and his own tongue worked it's way into John's. Their tongues danced together as John untucked Sherlock's shirt and began to undo the buttons, both having shed their coats beforehand. When the buttons were all undone John helped his husband out of it and let the purple shirt of sex fall to the ground. He placed his cool hands on Sherlock's bare chest and moaned at the feeling of Sherlock shivering underneath. Sherlock then removed John's shirt while said man undid his trousers for him, and then his own. They discarded the articles of clothing in unison and their bodies connected like a magnet. They moaned out as skin met skin and erections brushed together. John leaned his head back as Sherlock kissed it, paying special attention to his spot behind his right ear. His hips leapt up as Sherlock's lurched down and they met in the middle, causing both men to moan out in pleasure. Sherlock stuck his fingers in his mouth and slicked them with spit before moving them down to John's entrance.

John tilted Sherlock's head up and kissed him as he felt a long finger enter his body and brush past his prostate, causing John to almost melt into a puddle of pleasure. Sherlock entered a second finger and then a third before removing them all together and aligning himself with the puckered pink flesh. He leaned down and kissed John as he slid himself in the tight tunnel and groaned out pleasurably in unison with his husband. His thrusts quickened, but he didn't ram into him. That night they didn't shag each other, that night they made love to each other.

Sherlock continued to hit John's prostate with every gentle, loving thrust and John reached down and grasped Sherlock's forgotten member. He stroked it in time to the thrusting of Sherlock's hips. It wasn't long before Sherlock moaned out John's name and released himself onto John's stomach, John following suit as he released his hot seed into Sherlock. He pulled himself out of his husband and collapsed on top of him.

**~No more smut for you~**

John pressed his lips against Sherlock's before laying his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Happy anniversary, Love."

"Mmm. Happy anniversary John."


	6. Kiss me slowly

**YAY! I got my first submission prompt! *Celebrates* **

Chapter 6

Song: Kiss me slowly by Parachute

Prompt from: **madilove26**

* * *

John and Sherlock were at a party that the yard was throwing, again. Neither of them really wanted to go, but John said that they would, since they gave Sherlock something to do. Sherlock hated the idea, but went nonetheless.

"Why are we here? I dislike everyone here but you."

"Even Lestrade?"

"I tolerate him."

"Sure, whatever you say," John smirked. He knew that he cared about Lestrade, he just wouldn't admit it, the stubborn git. "Just stay with me. We don't even need to talk to anyone else. I'm not going to force you to socialize."

"But yet you still force me to come here."

John smirked and giggled, and soon Sherlock was too. Giggles turned to chuckles and chuckles turned to hearty laughs.

"What's so funny, freak?" Sally spoke up.

"Besides Anderson's face and the fact he can get a shag, not much at the moment," Sherlock shot back. the laughing had stopped by now and it was replaced with the usual annoyance and 'I'm-better-than-you' facade that seemed to follow him everywhere. Donovan rolled her eyes and walked away, much to John and Sherlock's pleasure. Sherlock sighed a long sigh. "You're not going to try and force me to to be nice to her now, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," John said before taking a much needed sip of his drink.

They sat there for a while, talking about little things to keep themselves occupied. They could have left, but then Sherlock would be bored at the flat and they really couldn't afford any more bullet holes in their wall.

When John finished his drink, he stood up and turned to Sherlock. "Walk with me," he said. Sherlock stood and followed him, anything to get out of the crowded room. They walked out and around the building. The party wasn't at the yard, they had rented out a building with a large fountain in front, so they settled on the edge of that.

"I know you really didn't want to come here, but I appreciate that you did."

Sherlock looked at him for a bit before answering. "Of course."

It wasn't until now that the two men realized how close together they were sitting. A small blush crept onto John's cheeks before he cleared his throat a bit.

"It's nice out," he tried. Oh god, was he really making small talk about the weather?

"Yes, it is." Sherlock was silent for a moment before continuing. "John, can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can. You don't have to ask me to ask me something, Sherlock."

"Do, do you enjoy having me as a flatmate?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I do, Sherlock, you're my best friend." Sherlock nodded and didn't say anything else. "Do you enjoy having _me _as a flatmate?" John asked. What was Sherlock trying to say? Did he want John to move out? Did _he _want to move out? Had he finally gotten tired of John? These thoughts vanished as he heard Sherlock's velvety response.

Sherlock looked at John, staring into his blue eyes with his own mystifying ones. "More than you will ever know."

His voice sent John into a trance-like state, and when he broke out of it, he found himself and Sherlock leaning into each others space, and before he could do anything about it, their lips met. His original plan was to pull away, but that idea was short lived seeing as how John actually enjoyed it.

Sherlock was kissing a bit fast for someone inexperienced, so John pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "Slowly, Sherlock. Kiss me slowly."

Sherlock nodded and their lips met again, dancing together gently as Sherlock placed his hands on John's waist and John placed one hand on the back of his flatmates neck and the other on the side, pulling the detective closer. Sherlock moaned happily into the kiss and John smiled into it. He felt Sherlock's tongue at his lips and allowed it inside as he slipped his own into Sherlock's mouth. Their tongues didn't battle for dominance, but rather ran danced like their lips.

This was unlike anything they had ever known, but in a good way. Sherlock finally got to kiss John, and John finally realized how he felt about the detective. The kissed until they had to brake for air, panting as they looked in each others eyes.

"Would now be a good time to tell you I love you?"

"A perfect time," John smiled, "I think I love you too."

Sherlock sighed in relief. "Thank god. Otherwise that would have been a bit not good." John chuckled. "Promise me something?"

"Of course."

"Stay with me? Please, John, at least tonight, don't leave me alone."

"Sorry to tell you this, Sherlock," John said, and Sherlock began to feel a bit panicked. Seeing this, John placed a soft, chaste kiss on his lips and continued, "but I've just found out that I'm in love with you. You won't be getting rid of me for a long time," he smiled.

Sherlock smiled and pressed his lips to John's once again. They picked up where they had left off the first time and the kiss grew passionate fast. John wanted to protest at the loss of heat on his lips, but the before he could Sherlock leaned in and whispered to him.

"Baker Street?"

John smiled. "Oh god, yes."

* * *

What did you think?


	7. Hate that I love you

**This chapter is going to jump a bit. I guess it's kinda like a 5 and 1 format.**

Chapter 7

Song: I hate that I love you by Rihanna and Chris Brown

Prompt from: **bumblewolf**

* * *

John sat at his computer, typing away about the case he and Sherlock had just finished while said detective stood in the kitchen, watching John out of the corner of his eye. It had been about a week since Sherlock discovered his new feelings for John, but he still hadn't told the doctor for fear that John would reject him, be disgusted by him for loving him, when John, as he had made it painfully clear, was not gay.

So Sherlock kept it to himself. He never told John, and never let his affections make themselves known, unless it was a time like this, where John wasn't paying attention to him. "I hate how much I love you, John," he said quietly enough so that the doctor wouldn't hear, and continued to sip at his tea. "But I just can't let it go."

"What was that Sherlock?"

"I didn't say anything," he said. He had tried to delete these new feelings several times, but it never worked. He was forever stuck with the knowledge that his love will never love him back.

* * *

John and Sherlock ducked into an alleyway to escape the gunshots that fired after them. They ran down far and pressed themselves against a wall, John holding onto Sherlock's sleeve, something he hadn't noticed until now. He let go of it and looked to Sherlock, then both started to laugh at the narrow escape. Something else they hadn't noticed until now, was how close they were. John looked up at his best friend, and the only thing Sherlock wanted to do was kiss the man. He could have sworn he saw _something _there in those wonderful blue eyes, but he ignored the thought, it was just his mind playing cruel jokes on him. John was straight, and the only love the doctor would ever feel for him was strictly platonic.

Sherlock stepped back a bit, cleared his throat a bit, and said "We should probably, uh, get back to Lestrade." His mind was doing it again, he thought he saw disappointment in his friends eyes. If only to prove himself of his theory, he stepped back to John, and they were now close once again. They looked each other in the eyes, and Sherlock slowly leaned down, surprised and relieved when the doctor didn't pull away, but ever so slightly, tilt his head up to the detective's. Sherlock slowly leaned in, giving the doctor the chance to change his mind, but he didn't move. Their lips connected in a sweet though tentative kiss. It wasn't quick, but it wasn't long either, it was the perfect length for a first kiss. When their lips broke apart, they lingered so close that the two men could feel each others hot breath on their skin. They went in for another kiss, this one deeper, and Sherlock placed his hands on John's face and John placed his hands on Sherlock's waist. He licked at Sherlock's bottom lip and Sherlock opened his mouth. This inside of Sherlock's mouth was a wonderful new experience, almost as good as the feeling of having Sherlock's tongue in his own mouth. Their lips and tongues danced as they finally set there nerves at ease. They would have kissed like that for hours, but only minutes later did they have to break apart for air. They looked at each other with lust filled eyes, panting a bit as they tried to catch their breath.

"I thought that it was just in my head," Sherlock said, his voice a bit deeper than usual.

John chuckled, then kissed him again. "Nope."

"Would now be a good time to tell you that I love you?"

"Perfect time, actually, because I love you too."

They shared another kiss before catching a cab to the yard.

* * *

Sherlock stood on the roof of St. Bart's, his phone to his ear as he spoke to John, tears rushing down his face.

"Sherlock, please, come down."

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry."

"Sherlock, please, I love you," John choked out. It only made Sherlock dispose more tears.

"I know. I know and I love you too."

"Then come down, Sherlock. Please, don't leave me!"

Sherlock choked back a sob and waited a few seconds until he could trust his voice. "Goodbye, John."

"No, don't."

Sherlock tossed his phone to the side. _I'll be back John, I promise I will come back for you _he thought to himself. He spread his arms out like wings and fell over.

"Sherlock!"

* * *

Two years later, John kneeled in front of the gravestone that belonged to the world's only consulting detective. He placed his fingertips on the shiny black marble and brushed it lightly, as if he were touching Sherlock. A few tears escaped his eyes as he began to speak.

"Hi, love. It's me again." He sniffled a little before continuing. "I uh, I wanted to say that this will be the last time I come to see you. Well come _here _to see you. I can't take this much longer, I need you." He bit his lip before continuing. "I hate how much I love you. I hate I really hate how much I need you, Sherlock, because now, I'm left alone with all this love that I can never give to you, so it just sits, rotting in my heart, dissolving it and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing except join you, so, that's what I'm going to do. You will never guess how much I love you, or how happy I am that you loved my back, and soon, we'll be together again. Goodbye, Love. I'll see you soon." He got up and began to walk to over to get a cab, but was stopped by a deep baritone voice.

"You don't need to kill yourself for us to be together."

John turned slowly to see Sherlock standing there. The tears that had stopped had now returned as he looked towards the tall figure of his best friend and lover.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

"Yes, John. It's me."

John ran up to him and threw his arms around Sherlock. He hugged him tightly as Sherlock returned the hug. "Why?" he asked, his voice shaky as he took in the feel and scent of the man he loved.

"I'm so sorry, John, but it was to save you. You and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

"What do you mean?"

"Moriarty had snipers set on all three of you. He would have killed you if they didn't see me jump." He put a hand on the back of John's head, loving the feel of his soft blonde hair. Neither of them spoke for a while, they just enjoyed the silence for a few minutes as they once again felt each other in their arms. Sherlock pressed a kiss to the top of John's head before nuzzling his face there. It was a few minutes before John broke the silence.

"I'm going to punch you later."

"I won't stop you."

"But, for now, I just want to enjoy having you back. I love you so much, you bloody bastard."

Sherlock chuckled a little. "I love you too."

* * *

**Hope you liked it!**


	8. I'm gonna love you through it

**I just had to do this song. I've lost two aunts to cancer, and just learned that another has leukemia, so this is a tribute of sorts, to them and anyone else who has been in some way affected by cancer. I hope I do well on this one, if none of the others. Also this is going to be longer chapter! Finally!**

Chapter 8

Song: I'm gonna love you through it by Martina McBride

John dropped the phone to the floor, frozen as it clattered down by his feet. _This can't be happening_ he thought to himself as he began to shake. He put a hand to his mouth and inhaled raggedly, before falling to his knees.

John had gotten a nasty cough a month ago, and finally decided to go get it checked out two weeks ago, when he coughed so hard and for so long we thought he would suffocate. The doctors first performed an x-ray. As the doctor was looking it over, he had found a large dark spot resting in the tissue, one that wasn't supposed to be there. They took a few more, just for confirmation, and ran a lung biopsy.

After a week and a half, John had gotten the results. They were more than a bit not good.

"John?" Sherlock asked, worry tainting his usually calm voice. He got up from his spot and hurried over to his husband, kneeling down next to him and wrapping him in his arms. "John, what happened?"

"It was positive," he said as the last bit of control he had on his emotions melted away, along with the barrier that had been holding back his tears. His body began shaking against his will. He was scared and upset and wanted Sherlock to make it better, though the doctor knew that even Sherlock couldn't do that.

"Oh, John," Sherlock whispered, swallowing past the lump that was forming in his throat. A few tears managed to squeeze themselves out of his eyes. He could feel the emotion and tears trying to force their way out, but he held it in, and held John tight. John was the one with lung cancer, not him.

"They said they w-want us to come in to t-t-talk about it," he said into Sherlock's shoulder. He felt Sherlock's hand rub his back soothingly.

Sherlock held him tightly in his arms, rocking him a bit as he held him as close as he could. "I know that you're afraid, and I am too, but you'll neverbe alone, I promise you. I will be there with you, every step of the way. Alright?"

John took in a shuddery breath before nodding. "Thank you."

"Hey, in sickness and in health, right?" He said in a calming, gentle tone of voice, much different from how he felt inside. John let his head fall limply onto Sherlock's shoulder and let the detective hold him close, like his mother used to when he was upset as a young boy. Sherlock ran a hand through John's sandy blonde hair and placed kisses on his head until his tears stopped and all that was left were shakes.

They stayed there for a few minutes before catching a cab to the hospital to talk with the doctor. John was almost paler than Sherlock at this point. He hated diagnosing people with cancer, but even though he knew it could happen to anyone, he never thought he would be on the receiving end of the conversation. When they arrived in the hospital, John felt like he was going to throw up. He saw some of his co-workers, all flashing him sympathetic and sad smiles as he walked to the room with his husband.

"Have a seat," the doctor said as John and Sherlock entered his office. He inhaled before speaking again. "We have good news. We caught it just in time to remove it. You are at the very last stage of operable ability, which for non-small lung cancer, is stage 3A, as you already know Dr. Watson. We have to go into the operation immediately though, before it gets too late. Now, of course, if for whatever reason you choose not to go through with the operation, we can't force you."

"Of course I want to go through with the operation. How soon until we start?"

"Immediately. I'll take you to go get ready right now, actually. I just have to call them to let them know to prepare a room." John nodded and after the doctor was done with his call to the O.R, followed him out of the room, holding Sherlock's hand tightly, his tremor returning. It was operable, and that was absolutely great, but he was still nervous. He knew as well as any other doctor that this type of operation could be risky, but he was willing to try anything that could help him get better.

They were led to a hospital room filled with doctor's and John was told to change into a hospital gown, which he did, then he was laid down on the bed and they began to insert IV's and other needles. Once that was all done, they told him to count down from 100.

"One-hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-seven, ninety...six, ninety…" that was as far as he had made it before losing consciousness. Sherlock gave his hand one last squeeze and kissed his forehead before he was rushed into the operating room, leaving Sherlock alone to his nervousness.

While he waited, he called Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson to let them know of the situation. He was so flustered about the whole situation he forgot to tell them about it. Lestrade said he'd stop by to see John when he felt a little better, and Mrs. Hudson said she would make some soup for them.

Sherlock waited and waited, growing more anxious by the minute. He wanted to comfort himself by telling himself that they knew what they were doing, but did they? The damn police force didn't even know half the time. It was hours before the doctor came out into the waiting room.

"The surgery went well, but, unfortunately, we had to take more than we had originally planned. He's resting but you can go in and see him."

"How much more?"

"Over half of his left lung."

Sherlock's breath hitched when he heard that. They really needed to take that much? His voice cracked a bit when he spoke. "What room?"

"ICU, first room on the left."

Sherlock ran down the hall as fast as he could and into John's room, stopping when he saw the man. John looked so small and weak it made Sherlock's heart clench, and all he wanted to do was protect him. He walked over and pulled a chair to the bed, sitting down and taking one of John's hands in his own. He felt so frail Sherlock was almost afraid he hadn't made it, but he knew that he was still alive. He placed a soft kiss on John's hand and rubbed it with his thumb, wishing for John to wake up but at the same time for him to get the rest he needed. While he didn't look thinner, per se, he looked a lot weaker and worn out than the army doctor usually did.

The same doctor from a few minutes ago walked in and looked at some charts. Sherlock looked to him, then back at John. "Will he be alright?"

"Yes. There are a few side effects to the surgery, but he will be alright."

"What side effects?" Sherlock asked quietly, but a bit gravely.

"We can't be certain until he wakes up, but his breathing could be affected, we may need to give him an inhaler, his speaking and/or vocal cords can be affected and he may feel pain for a while, but again, we can't be sure until he wakes up.

Sherlock nodded, not once taking his eyes off John. "How long until he wakes up?"

"It's hard to say. It could be anywhere from a few minutes to hours from now. It's a good thing if he rests for a while though, let's his body catch up for a bit."

"Right," Sherlock muttered, not really hearing what the doctor had to say. His ears stored what they heard in his mind palace so he could go over it later, but for now, his eyes were locked on John, who almost looked like an entirely different person. A tear escaped his eyes at the sight of his husband, who no longer looked like a soldier, no longer looked like an army doctor but looked weak, like he would break at the gentlest of breaths. He rubbed the back of John's hand with his thumb and just sat with him until John woke up hours later. As John began to wake up Sherlock looked at the clock to find it was 5:00 am the next morning. John weakly turned his head to look at Sherlock and gripped his hand, but Sherlock could barely even tell. He smiled through the oxygen mask and reached a thinner-than-usual hand up and placed it on Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock lifted the mask up ever so slightly so that John could speak.

"Hi, Love."

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired. How did it go?"

"They had to take more than they planned."

"How much?" John asked, unable to keep his eyes opened all the way.

"They had to take half of your left lung."

John looked away from Sherlock and down at his hands as his eyes began to water. "So, I-I won't be able to come with you on cases, won't be able to chase killers with you, won't be able to help, or be part of the danger anymore." The next thing he said was excruciatingly quiet and made Sherlock tear up. "You'll find me boring, you won't want to be with me anymore," he choked out. Tears started to roll down his cheeks as his chest began to heave with sobs. Sherlock was quick to wrap John in his arms, trying to calm him down before he got worse, it was already hard enough for John to breathe, this would only make it worse.

"That is _not _true," Sherlock said firmly. "I will _always_ want to be with you. I love you, John, and that will never change. You will always fascinate me, John, always and you will never stop. Everyday, I get to fall in love with you all over again, everyday I love you more than the last." Sherlock tilted John's head up to look at him and took both his hands in his own. "I promised you that I would help you through this, be with you every step of the way and I will. As long as we both shall live, John, and I _will not break that promise._" He held John close and kissed his temple as John calmed down, comforted by Sherlock's promises, knowing he wouldn't break them. "_You_ are the most important thing in my life. _You,_ John Hamish Watson-Holmes, son of Marcus and Susan Watson, younger brother to Harry Watson, ex soldier, army doctor, the man who moved in with me the second day of knowing each other, who has put up with me every day since then, no matter how much of a dick I am, who will never leave me and will never be left by me, my husband, my soulmate, my entire world, my entire _life._ I will never lose interest in you, and will never, _ever _stop loving you."

John nodded, wishing he could sit up to hug the detective instead of him needing to bend over so far. He leaned into the touch as Sherlock brushed his curls from his face. He hummed in content as he held Sherlock's free hand close to his face like a child did a with teddy bear.

"Can I get you anything? Any water, another blanket?"

"No, thank you, love."

Sherlock smiled, "Of course, Sweetheart."

* * *

Ten days after his surgery, John was finally allowed to go home. It was nice to be back at Baker Street, but he couldn't get over how frail he looked. Whenever he'd go into the bathroom, he'd stand and look at himself in the mirror, trying to grasp the fact that it was his reflection, that he really looked like that now. He had gone from well built and muscular to thin and weak. Not as thin as Sherlock, but thinner than he was before.

He could barely recognize himself.

He had taken to wearing baggy shirts and sweatshirts most of the time to hide just how thin he had gotten. He didn't hug anyone except Sherlock and occasionally Mrs. Hudson, but every time he hugged her, he could hear her wince internally. He slept a lot more, also. He would start to drift off on the couch and Sherlock would notice, then come over and hold him, cradling his upper half to his chest as he fell asleep without a word.

Two weeks after John got home, he and Sherlock were called to a crime scene. Sherlock had allowed John to come, but made him swear that he wouldn't do anything dangerous, and told him he couldn't come on chases, since it was to hard for him to breathe. Luckily, there wasn't a chase with this case, it wasn't a one-day case, but it wasn't too hard at the same time, and John loved it, he still got to help Sherlock but didn't' have to over-exert himself to much. He was able to forget about the past few weeks, but only until he heard Anderson and Donovan whispering about him as they left.

"He's so thin."

"Really not good for much anymore, is he."

"I know, it won't be long until freak leaves him alone."

"I'll bet you ten pounds that the freak's cheating on him."

That was the first time John saw Sherlock punch Anderson, and the glare he shot Donovan told him that he was about to do the same to her, so he pulled him by the arm out of the scene and to a cab.

Sherlock was seething the entire ride home. He looked over to John, about to say something vulgar about the idiots, but caught his tongue when he saw John looking down at his hands resting in his lap, tears rolling down his cheeks. His expression softened as he grabbed John's hand, smiling reassuringly when the doctor looked at him, and then gathered his husband in his arms. He rubbed John's back soothingly as he rested his head into the crook of Sherlock's neck and cried silently, the only reason Sherlock knew he was crying was because he could feel the tears on his skin.

"Ssh, it's alright. I'm here," he whispered in that deep baritone voice. The case had been an hour away, so Sherlock didn't wake John up when he fell asleep. When they arrived at the flat, Sherlock lifted John out of the cab and carried him inside to their bed. He removed John's shoes, socks, trousers and jumper, then stripped to his pants and crawled in next to him.

* * *

John healed overtime. He started gaining weight back, he had been given an inhaler, so he could even go on a few chases, but only a few for now. His color began to come back and after a while he started to work out and gained his muscles back, he began to feel like himself again.

Once he was finally back to normal, Sherlock decided to surprise him with a trip to his family's private island off the coast of Rio. It was a lovely island with a gorgeous house, plenty big enough for the two of them. The ocean rested in front of it, beautiful in the moonlight as it washed over the glassy water with crystals, and behind the house rested a vast amount of jungle with a path that lead to a beautiful waterfall and vibrant plants. The sight made John's jaw drop in awe, it was the second most beautiful thing he had ever seen, the first, of course, being Sherlock.

"This is wonderful, Sherlock. Thank you," John said as he smiled at Sherlock, a very genuine smile.

Sherlock smiled and wrapped his arms around John's waist. "I had a feeling you'd love it."

"I do, but I love you more. I love you so much.''

Sherlock's smiled widened as he leaned in and pressed his lips to John's lovingly. "I love you too."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Don't forget to fave, follow and review, BUTNO FLAMES!**

**FEED ME WITH SONG PROMPTS**


	9. Feel again

Chapter 9

Song: Feel again by OneRepublic

Prompt from: **nightland9657**

"I missed you, you know…" John said quietly, refusing to look at Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, his best friend and boyfriend, or, at least he was until he jumped off that damned rooftop two years ago. Now he wasn't sure what they were. Of course he still loved Sherlock, and was happy that he was alive, but right now he felt hurt, angry, and betrayed. "... and I am glad that you're alive."

'_Yeah, I got that when you punched me. THREE TIMES.' _was the sarcastic remark that flashed through Sherlock's mind, but it was silenced. Instead, the detective moved to grab the doctor's hand, but he moved it away from Sherlock's. He sighed, and looked up to the doctor. "I am sorry, John, but I did it to protect you. If I didn't jump, you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson-"

"Would be shot. Yeah I know. But why didn't you tell me?" he finished, raising his voice a bit.

"Because it had to be believable!"

"So you told Molly?!"

"She was helping me with it!"

"I could have helped you, Sherlock! You can trust me!"

"That would have defeated the entire purpose! Really, John, keep up for once!"

The look John flashed Sherlock made him shrink back ever so slightly, but he kept his facial expression the same.

"Get out."

"What?" Sherlock asked. Surely he couldn't have heard him right?

"You heard, me, get out! Disappear!" _John stop, _his heart pleaded, the look of hurt on Sherlock's face making clench in on itself, _you don't mean it_, but his head continued to control his words. "You did it for two bloody years, I actually want you to do it this time! I do not want to see you right now, so please, just leave." With that being said, he turned and walked into their… his, bedroom and slammed the door shut, leaving a hurt looking Sherlock in the living room. Once he was away from the detective, the pain in his chest made itself known quite clearly, but his head was still being too stubborn to let any tears fall. It ended up giving him a stomach ache, and he laid down on the bed, holding onto a pillow as his eyes burned. There was a tentative knock at the door.

"Go. Away." Another knock had John sighing and sitting up, walking to the door. "Sherlock I said go away…" his voice fell short at the sight of fresh tears making tracks down the detective's cheeks.

"Please, John, let me explain."

John was silent for a moment, then turned his head away and quietly responded with "Haven't you already?"

"John, I know that what I did hurt you, very badly, but it hurt for me too." John's head slowly turned back to his direction. He walked back to the bed, beckoning for Sherlock to follow him, and the two of them sat down together. "I never wanted to leave you. I thought of you every night and it hurt like hell not to have you there. But every time I killed, every time I was injured, I thought of you, of how I was doing all this to protect you, that it kept you safe. That's how I kept fighting, I had you to fight for. So no, I don't blame you for being hurt, but don't for one second think that it didn't break my heart to leave you for so long." He took in a ragged breath and continued. "I worried about you every night. Worried about if you were eating and resting enough, worried you wouldn't forgive me when I got back. Worried you wouldn't _be here _when I got back. I love you, John. Whether or not you still love me is beyond even my knowledge, but please keep in mind that I love you, and would do anything to protect you."

After a few minutes of silence from the doctor, Sherlock swallowed around the lump in his throat and made to get up, but a hand on his stopped him.

"For the past two years," John began quietly, "I've been everywhere and back trying to replace everything I had, everything I felt with you, until my feet were numb. For the first time since the army, I prayed. I prayed like a fool on the run." He paused here for a moment, took a breath, and continued. "I survived your death, Sherlock, but I didn't live through it. My heart was beating, but not working. I felt nothing the entire time you were gone. The only reason I didn't kill myself was because your brother had so much watch on me, I couldn't eat a piece of toast without him knowing. I was lonely, so lonely and felt so betrayed. I blamed myself for not being able to save you. You became my friend when I was nothing more than a broken cripple, and gave me a reason to smile again, gave me purpose." He paused again to breathe, but this one was ragged and weak. His voice grew even quieter. "Those two years you were gone? It was like coming back from Afghanistan. I survived, but I didn't live, I blamed myself for death and I hurt, felt unneeded, useless." He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes wet and glistening in the evening sky. "I was so alone, but with you... I can feel again." Sherlock's eyes brightened a little bit. "Please, please don't leave me again."

Unsure of what else to do, Sherlock hesitantly wrapped his long arms around John, smiling a tearful smile when he felt the doctor's own arms wrap around him. They both tightened their grip on each other and took in the presence of one another. John slid his hand up Sherlock's neck, tangling his fingers in the dark curls while Sherlock put a hand firmly on the back of his head, holding him as close as he could. He sniffled and buried his face in John's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, John." Was that a sob?

"I forgive you. I'm sorry too." Now it was his turn to sniffle. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

It was weak, it was damaged, but their remarkable bond was still there, binding them together, and somehow, even with all the damage, it was just as strong as ever. They had a long way to go, but somehow, they knew that it would be alright in the end.

The could feel again.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Don't forget to fave, follow and review, BUT NO FLAMES**


End file.
